Abnormal
by hockeygoalie1992
Summary: Once you start running, it's almost impossible to stop. Since the night he put his long-hated foe to rest, Harry has run long and far to escape his own guilt. Can a girl from beyond the stars fix the boy who fled from his own legacy?


**Disclaimer****: I do not own the **_**Harry Potter **_**series or **_**Tenchi Muyo**_** franchise, nor do I claim rights to any of their characters.**

**Chapter 1: An Earthly Child**

The young man standing over the sleeping forms of his godfather and his latest fling was fully aware that this seemed like the introduction to any and all slasher movies he'd seen on this little globetrotting adventure Sirius had taken him on, but it was well worth it.

Sirius Black would pay dearly for costing him a night's sleep with his loud, obnoxious boozing and his failure to put up a damn silencing charm. Of all the things Harry Potter wanted to hear, his godfather pleasuring an, admittedly _very_ attractive, Asian woman was most certainly not on that list.

The Black family heir would rue the day. As a matter of fact, he'd be ruing it right… about… now!

Harry bent down to retrieve the bucket of ice water laying at his feet, lifting it directly above his dear, beloved godfather's head. He resisted the urge to snicker and thanked the stars above that he had the forethought to take Sirius' wand beforehand.

If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that Sirius had deadly accuracy, even when hungover. But now, the time for plotting was over! Harry upended the bucket and dumping its contents over his unsuspecting victim.

The very instant the water touched his skin, Sirius gave a doglike yelp, coughing and sputtering as the cold water got in his face and mouth. He flailed, trying to ward off his assailant, but Harry had wisely stepped just out of arms reach.

Of course, his cry managed to rouse his latest catch, who shrieked something in mumbled Japanese and clutched her head in pain as her own hangover kicked in.

As his godfather moaned and shivered, fully feeling the effects of last night, Harry grinned and greeted him as loudly as possible. "GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!" He shouted in English as he made his way over to the window and flung open the drapes.

Sirius gave a hiss of pain as his eyes were assaulted with the cruel torment of sunlight. "ARG! TOO BRIGHT!" He cried. "What the hell, Harry?"

"Oh, good morning, Sirius!" Harry said, still maintaining his current volume and obnoxiously happy tone. He ducked as an alarm clock was lobbed at his head, not losing his grin for a second. "Just thought you'd like an early start to the day!"

With another groan of defeat, the man flopped back down, trying to cover his face with his pillow. "Too damn loud!" His muffled complaint came.

"Is that so? Funny. That's exactly what I was thinking the _entire bloody night_!" If his godfather was expecting sympathy, he'd be better served pleading his case to Professor McGonagall.

You see, the thing about Harry and sleep is quite simple: he likes it. A lot. When Harry doesn't get sleep, he gets irritable, especially if there's a source he can identify. If he can find who or what has deprived him of his sweet escape from the stress of daily life…

He made sure to make his displeasure known.

A fact that Sirius Black was now being rather rudely reacquainted with.

But Harry's revenge wasn't through. Oh no. He had one or two more tricks up his sleeve. "Now, Sirius," he said as if he were speaking to a child. "I'm going to go out, see a few sights, the usual stuff. But, before I leave and you go looking for your," he paused a moment to think over what words to use in front of the glaring muggle woman. He wasn't entirely sure how much English she understood. "Hangover pills, which you kept nicely tucked in your toiletries bag, you should know that they aren't there anymore."

This time, he couldn't stifle his laughter when Sirius gave a moan of despair and pulled the pillow off of his face to give him a pitiful, 'kicked puppy' look. "Don't give me that! You reap what you sow, old dog! I've hidden them around the hotel and left a few clues written down, you'll find them on the nightstand whenever you can drag your arse out of bed."

Ignoring the pathetic, whimpered complaints from his godfather, Harry spun on his heels and strode from the room, a slight bounce in his step with his mission accomplished.

As soon as he was out of the room, Harry's grin faded. It all felt so forced, like he was just going through the motions with Sirius. Like he was pretending to be his own father for Sirius' sake.

For Sirius' sake… Harry shook his head and pasted a small, content smile on his face. He did have to keep up appearances for the hotel staff, or they'd start bugging him with inane questions about how they could improve his stay.

Besides, watching Sirius shriek like a little girl was funny, no matter how much he felt like he was forcing a prank. But that probably had more to do with the fact that Sirius just plain had it coming this time.

After wandering around for the better part of six years, Harry would hope that his godfather would finally figure out where to draw the line, but, then again, those little subtleties had never been Sirius' strong suit.

No, Sirius' talents lay in magic.

There was a reason that it was so believable that he could have been Voldemort's right hand man – ignoring the obvious disqualifier of being James' best friend and brother in all but blood. Sirius had a reputation for using some rather questionable spells in his skirmishes with the fearsome Death Eaters.

Bone breakers, organ liquefying spells, cutting curses, firebomb curses, decapitation spells, the list went on. Out of all the members of 'the old crowd', as Dumbledore had so gently put it back in the Hospital Wing after the Third Task of the Tournament, Sirius Black was, aside from Alastor Moody, the most vicious.

As much credit as Harry gave to Hermione for getting him through the Tournament, Sirius held secret claim to at least fifty percent. After all, no one really bothered to watch Hogwarts students while they went off during trips to Hogsmede, discipline was, for the most part, in the hands of the easily distracted school prefects. Slipping away and into the caves with Sirius took only a bit planning and being an opportunist in bringing his invisibility cloak.

It was fortunate that Harry had the good sense to stick to the more mild spells Sirius had given him during the Third Task. Using any of the others would've given Minister Fudge all the ammunition he needed to throw him straight into Azkaban without a trial, just as Sirius had been thirteen years prior.

That bumbling, overstuffed buffoon had already tried naming him as the primary suspect in the murder of Cedric Diggory.

A sour taste entered Harry's mouth at that thought, if only he had been quicker. If only he'd been quicker, it would be that damned traitor Pettigrew who lay dead in the graveyard and Cedric who escaped alive. If only he'd been a bit quicker, there would never have been an attempted resurrection.

The only consolation was that Harry had gotten out of bed, despite protests from both Madam Pompfrey and Professor Dumbledore, and stormed from the Hospital Wing, but not before delivering a chilling parting shot to the red-faced Minister.

"I don't care if you don't believe me about, Voldemort, just take a trip to Little Hagleton Cemetery. You'll find the remains."

Eventually, someone had been sent to investigate a disturbance reported in Little Hagleton; nearby muggles had reported sightings of bright, multicolored lights flashing from the graveyard, along with shouting and horrified screaming.

The only thing left that they could use for identification was a wand: thirteen inches, yew, phoenix feather core, identified by Ollivander as the wand owned by one Tom Marvolo Riddle, or, as he was known to the wizarding world, Lord Voldemort.

The Ministry had gone into full panic mode! In a desperate attempt to salvage his reputation, Fudge tried frantically to get in contact with Harry, all but begging him to come to the Ministry to accept a formal apology, an Order of Merlin, anything as long as he would get the heat off of Fudge's administration.

But the letters returned unopened. Aurors were dispatched to visit Privet Drive, both to invite the last child of the Potters to the Ministry and to determine whether or not he was actually there.

He wasn't. Harry Potter had vanished into the night. The boy had never gone home. Fudge's fate was sealed the moment the announcement had been made: He had lost the savior of the wizarding world after condemning him.

The Ministry even called for aid from foreign governments to return him home safely, which was, for the most part, met with assurances to keep an eye out for him, while adding that they couldn't technically force him to leave unless he was a wanted criminal or committed a crime on their soil. The German ministry's response was particularly hilarious, Minister Hartmann wondering if his British colleague really had his priorities straight when he spent so much money tracking down a runaway kid when they had the followers of a deposed dark lord still on the loose.

Oh, how Harry wished he could've been present for that meeting.

Naturally, his little flight garnered some rather amusing reactions came from his friends, their families and certain members the Hogwarts staff.

Initially, he only received mail from Professor Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron and Remus, the latter three all but begging him to tell them where he was and that he was safe.

Dumbledore, however, seemed somewhat understanding, mentioning something about being just as reckless when he was Harry's age, but expressing his disappointment that Harry hadn't bothered to discuss his desire to travel with an adult. He ended this letter by informing Harry that Sirius had volunteered to track him down and ensure that he had a safe holiday and return in September.

As omnipotent as the old headmaster might seem, he had no possible way of knowing that it was Sirius who had aided Harry's little disappearing act, nor could he have possibly known that Harry had been literally sitting on a beach chair in Florida, waiting for the occupant of the chair immediately to his left to "track him down".

The letter immediately following that little revelation had been absolutely, side-splittingly hilarious.

Once they found out that Sirius was the co-conspirator behind Harry's little English sabbatical, the letters came flooding in by the day. Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall had been furious with the Black heir, demanding that he bring his godson back for the academic year, using the reminder that Harry's name had been placed on the list by James and Lily before he was even born.

Sirius refused, citing several instances in which Harry's physical and mental welfare were in jeopardy each year that he'd been in attendance. It was unacceptable. In his own words, "Every time I turn my back, his life hangs in the balance while I'm forced to hide and wait for you to give me the 'all clear'. No more. He is my godson, therefore, I exercise my legal right to pull him out of Hogwarts to pursue his education elsewhere."

That little move had confused Harry until Sirius gave him a quick rundown of wizarding law; magical contracts, such as wills and marriage contracts (which were rarely, if ever, practiced nowadays) were the domain of the goblins. According to goblin law, a contract or member account could never be seized or nullified by any other than the individuals named.

Ron, of course, immediately dispatched a letter to Harry, begging him to come back, to give him a chance to make up for his failures during the Tournament. Feeling a bit guilty, Harry replied, informing him gently that the decision to leave Hogwarts hadn't been made because of any sense of anger over his actions during fourth year.

Hermione reacted a bit different than he'd expected; she was actually somewhat understanding and accepting of his wishes to have a normal life, for once. She wrote that she would miss him dearly, but that she would always consider him to be her closest friend, only once asking that he at least _try_ to stay out of trouble and come home someday.

The raven-haired boy replied, "I make no promises" much to her chagrin.

As for Remus, well, Harry was literally rolling on the floor when Sirius read aloud a three page rant about how the pair of them were "bloody prats" and that "you could've at least had the decency to invite me!"

Unfortunately, Sirius' letter had done very little to deter Dumbledore, along with several adults, from attempting to convince Harry to return. They beseeched him to see reason and at least finish his education at the prestigious school and consider his future in the wizarding world before making such rash decisions. As much as he was grateful to the Weasley family for taking him in over the holidays, Molly had been particularly insistent that he was ruining all hope of getting a respectable job.

But that was just the thing; what was Harry's future in the wizarding world? Voldemort was dead, he'd grown tired of being a hero one year, the villain the next, and, honestly, other than flying and learning magic, nothing really seemed to grab him.

Maybe he just wasn't meant to stay in one place too long, Merlin knows he'd been confined to only a handful of places for most of his life.

With that in mind, Harry maintained his stance; he wouldn't continue his education at Hogwarts. Instead, he would be tutored by Sirius and test for his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s when he saw fit. To that end, he added a bit of a twist to his letters.

The adults kept asking him to tell them where he was, just to ensure that he was safe, or so they said. Realistically, they were hoping to confront him in person about his decisions. On technicality, they couldn't necessarily force him to return, as none among them were named his guardian, but that wouldn't stop them from trying to guilt trip him.

Even though he hadn't set for on Hogwarts grounds for several years, they were still determined to convince him to pursue his education.

However, Harry was wise to that tactic. To throw them off balance, he played on their weakest point: lack of knowledge about anything outside the magical world. Specifically, muggle fiction.

It was a new addition to his little game; they asked where he was, he pulled out something from fiction and gave them the information. Last time, he'd mentioned that he was unable to return to England because he'd been stuck on an island with a nice, but at times daft, man named Gilligan.

Come to think about it, he never had gotten around to testing for his O.W.L.s, let alone his N.E.W.T.s, which could explain why they were _still_ bugging him to finish school despite the fact that he was going on twenty-one.

Harry strode into the lobby of the hotel, thinking about his next fib in case any letters from home had arrived today.

The Silver Sage was a magical hotel, accepting wizards and most magical creatures, as long as they didn't pose a threat to the other guests. It had been around for over two hundred years, becoming something of a tourist trap for all sorts of sentient magical races visiting the Okayama Prefecture of Chugoku.

To any muggle passerby, the Silver Sage appeared to be a regular hotel with some slight hints of Japanese culture, such as the rooftops, gardens and decorative ponds enclosed within white walls and tall, solid wooden gate.

On the inside, however, it was quite different. Similarly to how the wizarding tents from the World Cup, the Silver Sage was bigger on the inside, even expanding _down_ into the ground for additional stories rather than higher up. Again, it held a modern flair but stayed true to the roots of Japanese culture, signs were posted at the doors to remind guests that it was considered impolite to wear their shoes inside.

Naturally, Sirius had been the one to forget that first, which created a rather awkward situation when a few of the Japanese guests tried to remind him as gently as possible.

Yeah, that went well…

Sirius had chosen it because of its reputation as the premier establishment in the area, along with its proximity to the rural portion of Okayama; as much of a playboy as he may very well be Sirius Black knew how much his godson preferred a quieter lifestyle. That coupled with Harry's recent fascination with the local shrines and other historical or magical cites in the area all but sealed the deal.

The old dog would enjoy the nightlife, watching from a safe, but respectable distance as his best friend's son had his fill of the wonders of this ancient culture.

Harry approached the front reception desk, which was occupied by a rather attractive Japanese woman, who was garbed in a white kimono, decorated with images of pale violets and bound with matching sash.

"Good morning, Potter-san," the receptionist greeted him in Japanese, with a smile that Harry was quite sure had become fixed in place on her face. "Are you enjoying your stay with us?"

Harry replied in kind, slower, with a slight accent in his speech. There were some things that linguistic charms just couldn't compensate for. "Quite well, actually. Aside from my godfather's antics, I've no complaints."

To his amusement, her smile faltered for a split second, that was all Harry needed to know that Sirius' hijinks had been grating on the nerves of even the most experienced members of the hotel staff. The saying "Misery loves company" was applicable in this situation.

"Yes," she said evenly. "We've had several complaints regarding Black-san's behavior last night…"

Oh, goodie. Complaints. Which meant that Harry had to play parent for a man nearly twenty years his senior. "I'll have a word with him when he's more coherent," he assured her. "It won't happen again."

"Please see that it doesn't. Is there anything I can help you with this morning?"

"Oh, yes!" He replied, his momentary embarrassment melting away as he recalled the reason for approaching the desk. "I was wondering if you might have any mail for me, I haven't checked in the last couple of days."

"I'll check for you, one moment please," Sirius had tried explaining to him how international mail was delivered, but he'd done it at a time when his godson was barely conscious and trying to fight off a migraine from the loud music in a club he'd been dragged to. He knew that owls didn't fly across the world, thank Merlin. As useful and convenient as that system might be, Harry felt that would be a rather obvious form of animal cruelty.

He just couldn't imagine forcing poor Hedwig to traverse half the planet to deliver one of his letters…

Harry idly wondered whether or not it was bad of him to hope that there wasn't any mail, that he didn't want to have to send any more letters to restate his intent, that he had no desire to return to Hogwarts to continue his schooling.

Maybe, just maybe, they'd give up and let him live his own life his way.

No such luck. The receptionist came back bearing several letters, each addressed to him in familiar handwriting. "Your mail, Potter-san," she said, bowing slightly at the waist as she handed them over. "Is there anything else that I might help you with?"

"Well, I was thinking about doing some sightseeing today. I read up on a few of the local shrines, but I don't know much, so if you could recommend one, perhaps?"

The fixed smile broke into a wide grin, one that spoke of her own interest on the subject and her pride in her own culture catching the interest of visitors from around the globe. "We do have a pamphlet with information on several shrines in the area," she replied as she gestured to a stack on the counter. She continued as he picked one and looked at the cover, half listening, half scanning through some of the sites shown. "But, if I might make a suggestion, Potter-san?"

"Please do."

"Personally, the Masaki Shrine has a very rich history. It has stood for over seven hundred years. Legend has it that the shrine stands on the sight of an ancient battle between a terrifying demon and a brave warrior, who descended from the sky."

Now, _that _was fascinating. "I think I'll look into that one," he said with a grin. "Thank you." He stepped away from the receptionist desk, allowing the next guest in line to come forward, and headed down the hall and back to his room, idly looking over each letter and trying to see if he could identify the sender by the writing.

As much as he liked to think of his deductive skills, identifying handwriting really wasn't his strong suit. With a slight sigh of annoyance, he slipped his hand into his right pocket, searching for his key and unlocked his door. Looks like he'd actually have to read the bloody things.

Harry cynically wondered how many of them were from his rather obnoxious fans. They just never seemed to take a hint, never seemed to understand the fact that, despite their beliefs, he wasn't proud.

It was a trait they shared with the British Ministry.

The young man drew a hand through his messy, raven hair and plopped himself down on his bed and began the arduous task of sorting through the letters, separating them into two piles: "important" and "to be burned".

He had the distinct impression that, once again, the "to be burned" pile would be considerably larger.

"Fan mail," he sighed, tossing the offending letter to the side. "Fan mail, fan mail, junk, junk, Ministry summons, Daily Prophet," come to think of it, why did he still have a subscription to that rag? "Fan mail, fan mail, adverts, junk, Educational Board, fan mail… with pictures, I'm sure her parents are just _thrilled_… fan mail… with a portkey? Hmm, they're getting creative. Remus –"

Harry nearly dove for the letter he'd discarded out of habit, desperate to read anything that didn't end with him either trapped as the Ministry's poster boy or the victim of some fan girl's wildest dreams.

Even after some of the things he'd seen in the last few years, those sickened him.

_Dear Harry,_

_Just checking in to see how you're doing, hopefully, this time you're not trying to put more grey hairs on my head by getting involved in stopping some ancient Mayan ritual again. As much as I'm sure you're using my letter as an escape from your_ _adoring fans _("Git," Harry muttered.) _this is actually for Sirius._

_Our favorite convict has been ignoring my letters since the aforementioned incident, something to do with me acting like an old stick in the mud, I'm sure. That being said, kindly make sure he gets this and actually tells me what the two of you are up to. Tie him down and read it, make the words appear inside his eyelids, I don't care, get creative._

_Love,_

_Moony_

_P.S. Nice touch with the Gilligan reference. Took Dumbledore weeks to get that one. Might I suggest something of the Sci-Fi genre next?_

Ah, Remus, always good for a laugh. Harry shook his head and placed the letter off to the side, far away from the _other _pile. He opened the next letter, absentmindedly noting that the handwriting on the envelope looked quite neat, elegant even, and began reading.

He sighed and shook his head as he read the words, compelled to do so only by the fact that he knew the girl's older sister, vaguely, and because she was Ron's sister-in-law.

"No," Harry muttered sadly. "I'm not who you think I am. I've never been him."

Another girl looking for her fairy tail prince, this one much closer to home. He shook his head and placed it off to the side with Remus' letter; he actually had to address that one, she might be young and naïve, but she was part of Ron's family and he couldn't let his old friends get wrapped up in his troubles, no matter how far they'd drifted apart in the years past.

Oh, well. Yet another thing for him to look forward to later.

The raven-haired young man set the remaining letters to the side, abandoning his arduous task. He had little patience for fan mail at the best of times, and this was certainly not in that category. That last letter in particular had put him off of any semblance of what had been a slightly tolerant mood.

With a low groan of annoyance, he pushed himself off the bed and to his feet, striding across the room to his closet, his sights set on the black leather jacket hanging, hastily thrown on a hanger before he'd passed out in bed last night.

It gave him a rather scruffy, stereotypical brash look, something that practically screamed "look at me, I'm foreign!"

It was so obnoxious, so over the top, so overt that it was covert. In the eyes of the everyday local, Harry was nothing more than the stereotypical messy haired foreign kid, who was trying to look like one of his favorite comic book characters.

He would certainly draw the odd looks on the street as he walked past, but that was much more preferable to them knowing what he really was, his true heritage. None of those people, walking and struggling through their normal, everyday lives, would ever know what he'd seen and done in these past years.

It was that thinking that drew his attention to his nightstand, where a constant reminder of that past rested, taunting him every time his gaze fell upon it.

Eleven inches of holly with a phoenix feather core, eleven inches of memories of a world hidden from the eyes of normal humans. Eleven inches of nightmares, magic and blood.

So much blood. From Quirrel to Voldemort to the countless others who dared to test their mettle against the slayer of the Dark Lord.

Eleven inches that served as a reminder of the world that should have brought him peace after a life of emptiness, but only served to break him even further.

Harry closed his eyes, silently wishing for that damn thing to just disappear, to get out of his life and take with it all the memories, all the pain. If it weren't for that wand and its accursed brother, he would still have his parents, he wouldn't be famous; he would've had as normal a childhood as any young wizard could.

Instead, he got cheated. Magic and some cruel form of predestination robbed him of the childhood he should've had, the specifics denied to him by Professor Dumbledore because he was "too young". Why did he have to be the one to lose then?

Well, until the ancient Headmaster of Hogwarts felt willing to pull the curtain back on that little secret, all Harry could say was that he lost everything, before he could even _have_ it to begin with, because of reasons.

"Because of reasons." A nonsensical phrase muggles used to explain something that couldn't be explained, or something that they couldn't be bothered to explain.

How he wished that it would all just go away.

And how ironic was it that the object that drew all of his personal demons to the surface, that made his blood boil in rage and agony, was the only thing he had to protect himself from all those who might try to make a name for themselves? How disgustingly ironic was it that his own desire to disappear had turned him into some sort of hunter's game and, after several of the aforementioned hunters falling victim to their own prey, a legend?

Now, most wizards either over idolized him or were openly terrified of him. Perhaps Dumbledore was right, he and Voldemort really were similar in a sense.

The Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived. Two sides of the same coin.

And those eleven inches of holly wand served as a reminder of every second, every bit of fear that turned his blood to ice as his hateful, loathsome adversary cheated death again and again to seek vengeance against the child who dared defy him.

And wasn't it just _perfect_ that the very object of his current focus just so happened to be his only possible means of defending himself.

Harry did, of course, have the option of simply leaving his wand behind and wandering around the countryside like a muggle, but Sirius would have his head on a platter. Oft drunk prankster or not, his dear godfather considered self-defense to be a top priority.

With a sigh, he grasped the familiar instrument, the tool that granted him the ability to work miracles, bring death and everything in between, and slipped it into a holster conveniently located in his jacket. Such placement was painfully obvious, but why ruin a perfectly good stereotype?

Who knows, maybe the next imbecile to try and kidnap him would be smart enough to properly search him and take the damn thing away this time.

It was highly unlikely, but a slightly amusing, if not cynical, thought. Heaving a sigh of resignation, Harry picked up a pair of white trainers and held his jacket over his shoulders. With a last, cursory glance at the room, Harry turned and pushed open the door.

"I wonder how long the bus ride to that shrine is," he mused idly as the door closed behind him.

* * *

Sometimes, Harry really did find that his aversion to magic, his own natural ability, was some form of masochistic punishment that he inflicted upon himself.

Why else would he voluntarily forgo apparition to sit on a crowded, hot bus for over an hour, trying his best to ignore the whispers about the _gaijin_ who sat amongst the other passengers. Constant bumping and jarring caused by the unpaved country road did little to help the young Englishman's mood as he tried, ever so valiantly, not to cast a wide area silencing charm or sleeping spell on his fellow passengers.

Patience was key. Patience. He put up with students gossiping about the most ridiculous of rumors twice in his school years; he could deal with a few locals grumbling over the presence of a strange foreigner.

Even so, some of these older, country folk tended to be a bit more conservative, more wary of foreigners.

Fortunately, the driver had given him notice that they were almost to the first gate of the Masaki Shrine a few minutes ago. And, judging by the site of the red posts of the Shinto gate slowly coming into view, it was just about that time. It would be a merciful end to the ride in this cramped metal contraption.

"Masaki Shrine," the driver called as the bus rolled to a stop, jarring the passengers forward slightly.

Harry stood up and made his way down the isle, pushing past a few of the larger passengers and ignoring the looks he received each time he inadvertently nudged them with an elbow. He gave a nod to the bus driver and stepped down and onto solid ground, momentarily reveling in the stable feeling and natural air.

Change in climate be damned, he'd take the humidity over frying within a crowded tin can.

He continued on, under the arch of the Shinto gate and onto the concrete landing, making his way to the first step up the path. Looking up, he had to wonder just how high those stairs went. Granted, the Masaki Shrine was located in a rural mountain area, situated on an elevated area overlooking a lake down in the valley. Surrounding the entire mountain, guarding over the shrine like a silent army, was the forest.

A forest, evergreen and strong; surrounding one of the most famous shrines in the area, the prison of a terrifying demon, something straight out of nightmares and into legend.

It sounded like a typical, local myth, but how often had that been the story before Harry had shown up on the scene and discovered everything to be real?

The brochure given to him by the hotel receptionist painted it like something out of a diorama; while he typically took that sort of hype with a grain of salt, something about it just seemed to appeal to him. Perhaps it was the picturesque scene shown on the cover, or perhaps it was the fact that the shrine itself was located out in a more rural area, away from the crowds and noise of the city.

Away from anything that might distract or otherwise occupy the young wizard. This, right here, was perfect. Peaceful, natural, so quiet and normal that, for him, it was completely abnormal.

"My kind of day," Harry muttered as he began to ascend the steps. This was one of those times that he was actually glad he'd ditched Sirius, make no mistake, he loved his godfather, but sometimes, he wondered which of the two of them was supposed to be the model of maturity.

Call him crazy, but Harry seriously doubted that a forty-something year old man whining over how far he had to climb without apparating to the top didn't seem to qualify.

But as he reached the midway point, a strange sound cut through air, pulling him out of his serene state of mind and into the all too familiar state of suspicion.

It sounded… like metal slipping against metal. He took a quick look behind him, to confirm that the bus had left.

Sure enough, it had. There was nothing metal in sight, nothing that would logically produce that sound.

Something wasn't right. This was a forest surrounding a shrine, not a factory or one of those ridiculously large logging fields like he'd seen in the United States. The sound of the odd car speeding down the road was one thing, but shifting metal?

That didn't belong at all.

Against his better judgment, against every instinct screaming for him to ignore the sound and just keep walking, go about his business and just keep walking up the steps, he turned and began to walk into the forest.

So much for a quiet day.

Harry stepped over the divider between the concrete steps and the soft grass that grew on the slope, carefully counterbalancing his weight to prevent himself from taking a rather embarrassing tumble to the bottom. Fortunately, the ground seemed to even out a bit ahead, so he wouldn't have to fight against the worn soles of his trainers for too long.

That sound of metal sliding and grinding rang in his ears once again, halting his progress as he quickly looked around for the source, quieting his breathing so he wouldn't miss the direction this time. The source, whatever it may be, was close. The main question was _how_ close.

Second on the list, was the intent of the source; what in the world was a strange metal object doing out in the middle of rural Japan?

Harry wasn't exactly oblivious to the muggle world; while some farming called for use of machinery he strongly doubted it necessary on the side of a mountain. Especially one that made such a peculiar sound, a sound that was almost rhythmic, like something shifting to move.

As he stepped onto more level ground, Harry stopped short to scan more carefully; it didn't make sense for something so heavy and bulky, if the sound was anything to go by, to be located on an incline. No, anything that heavy would have greater problems with balance than he did.

It had to be somewhere nearby, on level ground.

But there was no visible sign of anything remotely resembling a machine! Harry double and triple checked the clearing, but nothing was to be found save for a couple of small bushes, patches of grass and a few trees. One of which, oddly enough, seemed to have an unusually thick trunk despite the general adherence to natural proportions.

Odd, but not quite odd enough to be alarming at this point. No visible machine made this a far more important, far more difficult issue to tackle.

Which left one alternative: this odd machine had some sort of invisibility device or charm placed on it, possibly similar in nature to his own cloak of invisibility. Indeed, such a device was clever and, when used against someone unfamiliar with them, made it nigh impossible to track the invisible person.

Harry, however, was far from inexperienced. He knew which signs to look for; he knew full well that invisibility did nothing to hide broken branches or tracks in the soil, nor did the light bend perfectly around the subject in question.

It was all just a matter of looking _carefully_ enough.

And sure enough, the ground proved his theories true! The soil showed an odd set of tracks, large, three toed tracks that measured at about the size of his head! Harry was no zoologist, but he was quite sure that there were few creatures with tracks that resembled these in the slightest.

First on the list were, of course, dragons. It would have to be a young dragon for the tracks to be this size, but the metal sound and invisibility cancelled out that theory. Dragons hadn't worn armor since wizards had used them for war during the Middle Ages. The second option was utterly impossible because, well, _those_ creatures had been extinct before man first walked the Earth.

But to make these observations true, he had to find whatever it was and force it to become visible.

Which fell back upon the last option, finding the place where light bent around something unseen, as if it were a bubble floating through the air, distorting the sunlight, ever so slightly, giving the slightest hint that there was _something_ in that space.

Just the slightest bend in the light, the slightest bit of…

Visual distortion. Slowly, Harry's gaze followed along the path of the deep tracks, coming to a stop at the very tree he'd noticed with the abnormally large trunk.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Upon closer inspection, the distorted are didn't even blend in properly, he could clearly see the line of a hulking figure hidden within if he shifted or turned his head at an angle. This thing might have had rudimentary camouflage, but it wasn't going to do much of anything if someone actually looked for it.

But that left the question: what in the world was it?

Well, there was only one way to find out. "I know you're there," he called out. "And I know you don't belong here. Reveal yourself and state your purpose."

No reaction. Not a move, not the slightest hint that it would cooperate. The young man frowned in frustration, but calmly repeated himself. "Reveal yourself and state your purpose."

The space in front of the tree blurred as the hulking figure turned, presumably to face its accuser, giving Harry a general idea of its size; 'hulking' didn't cover it, this thing was huge! Whatever it was, it was at least twice his height, and perhaps half as wide.

Not as tall or bulky as a dragon, but now even more of a threat. A dragon's body would be cumbersome in a forest, making it too difficult to move about, this thing wouldn't have that problem as long as it stayed out of the underbrush and on relatively stable ground.

Harry was at a disadvantage.

His heart skipped a beat as the space began to blur and distort again, this time, the dark brown of tree bark and vibrant greens of the leaves were blocked out by the cold, metallic grey of what appeared to be a large, heavily armored reptile.

_What in the world?_

Before he could vocalize his surprise, the reptilian creature raised its arm and aimed some sort of long, cylindrical tube attached to its gauntlet. Harry's eyes widened as the realization hit and he thrust his hand into his jacket to retrieve his wand.

His chest exploded in pain before his fingers even touched the polished wooden handle, Harry felt himself lifted off of his feet and thrown backwards, colliding with the trunk of another tree.

He didn't feel the pain he knew should be there from the collision, it was all numb save for the burning sensation of his skin burning from the intense heat of the blaster bolt he'd been hit with. The world around him began to blur, his vision dimmed as he watched the creature approach him with loud, thunderous steps to observe him as the life left his body.

Harry Potter… had been killed.

"Reconnaissance unit seven, report," a hulking, lizard like figure commanded. When the ship's computer system alerted him to the recon unit's use of primary weaponry, he had immediately gone on high alert. Though their ship hidden in the zero dimension, in the blind spot of any deep space scanners that accursed scientist, Hakubi Washu, might possess, the danger in this mission was still prevalent.

Their targets, the crown princesses of Jurai, were far from defenseless.

No, the princesses themselves were dangerous; both possessed combat skills of the highest caliber, just as their father before them. Even so, they weren't alone.

Hakubi Ryoko, the former space pirate, was arguably the most feared entity in the galaxy; Kuramitsu Mihoshi, once a brilliant officer in the Galaxy Police, was always an enemy to be approached with extreme caution, despite the fact that her overall performance had deteriorated due to overwork and exhaustion; Makibi Kiyone, the ever dedicated and vigilant partner to the aforementioned officer, was equally as dangerous, her senses hadn't failed her in the slightest with the increased workload. If anything, she had risen to the occasion and exceeded expectations.

But it only got worse. As if the three named, combined with the mad scientist weren't enough, Yosho, the formerly missing Crown Prince of Jurai, was the head of the pathetic little shrine the Juraians inhabited.

It may have been seven hundred years since the last _reported_ combat he'd seen, but the captain was no fool, he knew fully well that the former prince was to be approached with _extreme_ caution. After all, it had been Yosho who had defeated and sealed the space pirate Ryoko for seven hundred years.

And last, but certainly not least, on the list was the Prince's grandson, Masaki Tenchi. On the list of threats, he was number one. Reports indicated that this boy, this _Earth child_, had shown the ability to manifest the Light Hawk Wings, the legendary weapon used by the Juraian Empire's Royal Treeships.

If the recon unit's attack had alerted those people, if they were forced into combat before the plan could be enacted, he and his entire crew were dead. Every single member of his crew was dead, no questions asked.

The fact that the recon unit hadn't answered immediately wasn't sitting well with him. "Report!"

"Reconnaissance unit seven reporting. I have been discovered by an Earth creature classified as 'human'. A male of their species, if I'm not mistaken."

"Has the creature raised the alarm?"

"No, sir," came the reply. "I terminated it on sight as directed by mission parameters. What are your orders regarding the body?"

The captain considered for a moment. "Incinerate it," he ordered. "We don't need the Juraians to be alerted to our presence, or to find that we killed one of the inhabitants of their protectorate."

"Understood. It will be done, cap –" The reconnaissance unit's response was cut off by a loud bang and explosion of light, followed by the sound of screaming.

It took a moment for the captain to realize that the screaming was coming from his own crewman; something had attacked one of his crew!

"Activate visual link!" He barked to another crewman. "Show me what is happening down there!"

"Yes, sir!" The operator said with a salute, typing in a few commands on the main computer and bringing up the link on the monitor display.

The reconnaissance unit was screaming in pain, flailing his arms and trying frantically to beat out tongues of fire that were eating away at his armor, burning through his skin and making their way throughout his entire body! He was being burned alive.

Soon enough, his claws had caught fire as well, and the flames began to work their way down his arms, which fell limply to the ground as the nerve endings were killed. In his panic, the recon unit searched for his assailant, groaning and whimpering in pain.

His horror was matched only by the shocked gasps of the captain and crew. "N-No!" he rasped. "Y-You're dead! I shot you!"

On the screen display was the visage of a young human male with black, shaggy hair and black-rimmed glasses, looking down emotionlessly on the dying crewman before him.

Impossible. That blaster was powerful enough to take down a fully trained Royal Juraian Guard, a weak human, of all things, should be no trouble at all! Hell, human firearms were fragile, weak! Children's toys compared to their blasters! That human's entire upper body should've been reduced to ash by a single shot!

And yet, the Earth creature had stood up and returned the act in kind.

Damn the mission, that _thing_ had just killed a member of the crew! The captain snarled at the screen as the image began to blur and go to static as his crewman's life support systems gave out. "Bring that human to me," the captain snarled. "I'll have its head on my wall for this!"

**Chapter End**


End file.
